


Nobody's Business

by Lush_Specimen



Series: Hotlock History [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Past Torture, Pre-Canon, Racing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27478339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lush_Specimen/pseuds/Lush_Specimen
Summary: After Ratchet repairs his wounds sustained during his captivity on Turmoil's Warworld, Hot Rod sneaks away for the secret non-factional race tournament, hoping that Deadlock will show up.Little do they know, they are in for a race day like no other!
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Hot Rod
Series: Hotlock History [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584421
Comments: 78
Kudos: 64
Collections: HotLock Week 2020





	1. Check In

**Author's Note:**

> Behold my contribution to HotLock Week 2020!! Instead of following the prompts, I used it as inspiration to write this entry in my HotLock series that I've been kicking around for a long time!
> 
> There will even be a bonus DriftRod entry!
> 
> Enjoy!!

Hot Rod propped his feet up on the table and leaned his chair back at a precarious angle. He took a long draught of his energon mixer, savoring the clean flavor and sheer quantity filling his cube. 

“Get your fraggin' feet off my desk!” Freeway wacked Hot Rod’s offending limbs. 

“Hey! Watch it!” Hot Rod yelped, nearly toppling over his delicately balanced chair. “You almost spilled my energon!” 

“Well, I wouldn’t have if you weren’t here in the first place! Go bother someone else!” Freeway grumbled, shuffling unmarked datapads filled with encoded registrations. “Racers are supposed to wait in the lounge.” 

“Yeah, but... I’m waiting for someone.” Hot Rod swirled the energon in his cube, studying the analogous shades of pink like they might hold the answer to the growing question in his mind: Will Deadlock show up? 

“If you’re waiting for someone, you should go hang out with Trickdiamond. She meets everyone as soon as their shuttles land. They don’t get here until after they’ve checked in with her first and ran their qualifiers.” Freeway gestured down the quarter mile dragstrip to the booth set up at the far end. 

“But your registration booth is closer to the lounge,” Hot Rod downed the rest of his energon with one gulp. “Speaking of which, I need a refill!” 

“Then make yourself useful and grab me one too!” 

“No problem!” Hot Rod offered a cheeky salute and vaulted to his feet, bumping Freeway’s desk and sending the meticulously sorted datapads scattering. He dodged the empty energon cube launched in his general direction, laughing as Freeway’s cursing reached new levels of exasperation. 

Hot Rod happily jogged down the twisting natural cavern, temporary sodium lighting casting everything in an amber hue. Blurr and Swindle really stepped up their game for this year’s secret non-factional race. Every time the event gets a little bigger and a little nicer. They set the entire staging area in an expansive cave system. The minerals scrambled scanners, making this a perfect area for everyone to gather before the races start tomorrow. 

Despite the dim lights, his new paintwork shimmered. He bounced his rebuilt spoiler with a smile. Ratchet was the best. After his totally successful personal mission to locate the Decepticon Warworld cutting off their supplies put him at the mercy of Turmoil, he was in rough shape. Although he didn’t like to think about it, if Deadlock didn’t intervene, he might not have survived at all. Hot Rod could always guess the severity of his injuries by how angrily Ratchet shouted. When Optimus set his battered frame gingerly on the operating table, Ratchet’s silence almost made him purge his tanks. In absence of his usual bluster, Hot Rod noticed a sadness so soft and deep Ratchet’s usually stern blue optics that it sent a shudder through his system. 

Somewhere ambient moisture dripped in the shadows. Hot Rod froze. 

_Drip._

The sensation of dangling aloft with cruel fingers tightening around his throat flashed in his brain. He could practically feel the energon running down his lacerated back, dripping softly onto the cell floor littered with shards of his ruined spoiler. His vent fans whirled. 

_Drip._

He shuddered in a vain effort to shed the terrible sensations assaulting his frame. 

_Drip._

Irrational fear shot through his spark and he bolted. 

Hot Rod tore down the long corridor, pistons pounding. He skidded around the last turn before Blurr’s makeshift racer’s lounge and flattened himself back against the solid stone wall. Clenching his fists, he willed his revving engine to cool down. 

That was stupid. He was fine. 

Raucous laughter drifted around the bend in jovial bursts. Too reminiscent of his tormentors’ jeers, it made his plating crawl. 

Everything is fine. 

Ratchet patched him up. Sealed all his cuts and rebuilt his ruined armor. No one could see the patchwork weld seams beneath his glittering flame decals. 

Totally fine. 

He fiddled with the gray magnetic patch plastered over his Autobot badge. Blurr insisted everyone cover their faction badges while on site for the races. This whole event revolved around pure speed, with no place for warfare. Although the narcissistic blue racer had lobbied for flashy painted patches, Swindle bought the plain gray ones because they were cheaper. Wearing the patch never bothered him before, but today it chafed like grit in his gears. After nearly being beaten to death, Hot Rod found the large gray spot right over his spark to be an ominous omen. 

“Ugh. I’m a wreck,” Hot Rod muttered to himself, dragging a palm down his face. 

“Tell me something I don’t know!” Someone laughed and clapped his shoulder hard. 

All Hot Rod’s defensive systems snapped online. He whirled around, fists clenched and flames flaring around forearms. His white-hot blaze illuminated four familiar faces, gray patches covering their Decepticon badges. 

“Fragging hell, Drag Strip! I could have killed you!” Hot Rod nervously shook the fire off his frame. 

The bright yellow speedster stared blankly at him for a second before bursting into laughter. 

“Pftt! Good one, Hot Rod!” Wildrider snorted. 

The rest of the Stunticons laughed like it was a hilarious joke. Hot Rod rolled his optics and hoped they didn’t notice his face flush with embarrassment. He personally burned his own city to ashes and orchestrated the destruction of a Warworld, but still no one took him seriously. 

During previous races, Hot Rod had a great time hanging out with the Stunticons. Different factions aside, they liked to drive fast, pull reckless stunts, and play stupid games. Normally, it was a blast. Today, when Wildrider casually hooked an arm around his neck to drag him into the lounge, Hot Rod’s entire frame automatically tensed. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have come. Ratchet hadn’t given him clearance to return to duty yet. Something in that look the medic gave him made Hot Rod feel a little guilty about sneaking away. He knew from experience no one would miss him or his shuttle for a few days. Although he never missed a race weekend, if he was completely honest with himself, he came for a different reason than maintaining a perfect attendance record... A tall dark handsome one. 

Unfortunately, Deadlock hadn’t arrived yet. Facing the possibility that Deadlock might not show up at all, Hot Rod swallowed his disappointment and determined to force himself into some form of normalcy. He mustered up a facsimile of his usual energy and playfully elbowed Wildrider’s side. 

“Enjoy the view of my taillights so much, you came back for more, huh?” Hot Rod teased. 

“Please!” Wildrider huffed as he hooked his other arm around Drag Strip. “Nobody’s gonna beat us this year!” 

“You won’t hear any arguments from me!” Hot Rod flashed a cheeky grin as they entered the lounge together. 

“Wait? You agree??” Breakdown narrowed his red optics. “You’re up to something.” 

“You think everyone is up to something,” Dead End groaned. 

“Because they usually are,” Breakdown muttered. His optics shifted around the room, likely considered how everyone present is secretly plotting his demise. 

“I’m just saying...” Hot Rod shrugged innocently. “Nobody can beat you. That’s a fact!” 

“What are you-” Wildrider began. 

“Nevermind!” Drag Strip shoved him, pointing at the digital display board mounted on the wall behind the makeshift bar. “They’re posting our times!!” 

Once racers check in with Trickdiamond, they run the quarter mile to Freeway’s registration booth to record qualifying times which are used to determine the lineup order for the following day’s race. As part of the anonymous nature of their secret gathering, everyone must choose a nickname to race under. Hot Rod usually raced under Rodimus Hot Bodimus, but he chose something different this year. Something that only a very specific Decepticon might recognize. 

The Stunticons’ times lit up the board, all but one placing very near the top. Their nicknames were mind-numbingly predictable: Left Arm, Right Arm, Left Leg, and Right Leg. 

“HA! Check it out!” Drag Strip beamed, pointing at his time listed as ‘Right Arm.’ “Second place! Suck on that, slowpokes! So far the only person faster than me is... ‘NOBODY’?!” 

The Stunticons all stared at Hot Rod while he did his best to feign innocence. 

“Holy frag!” Wildrider laughed. “Is that you? Did you pick that name just so you could make stupid jokes about how ‘Nobody can beat you’??” 

A sly grin spread across Hot Rod’s face. While that wasn’t the only reason he picked that name, Hot Rod could never pass up the opportunity to make stupid jokes. 

“I don’t fraggin’ believe you!” Drag Strip muttered. Annoyed at Hot Rod’s faster time, he abandoned his boasting and ordered a round of quality racing fuel from Blurr. He shoved a cube at Hot Rod too. 

“Oh, you better believe it!” Hot Rod sipped his energon. “Although, after the Menasor fiasco last year, I didn’t expect to see you losers again.” Hot Rod relaxed. Despite the disorienting din of dozens of conversations in the crowded lounge, teasing the Stunticons helped him feel more at ease. 

“Don’t remind me!” Dead End rolled his optics. “That was terribly embarrassing.” 

“Needless to say, we learned a thing or two about gestalt bonds that day,” Breakdown sighed. 

“You can say that again.” Dead End grumbled. “When they say you share everything, they mean everything. There are no secrets in a combiner.” 

Last time the Stunticons attended, they had recently become part of a combiner team with Motormaster to form Menasor. Not realizing that they share memories through their bond, Drag Strip and the other speedsters abandoned Motormaster to sneak away and go racing. The next time they combined into Menasor, Motormaster found out, felt betrayed and the massive combiner spent the entire battle curled up in a ball weeping profusely. 

“How’d you give Motormaster the slip this time?” Hot Rod asked, grateful for the distraction. 

“About that...” Dead End winced 

“We kinda... didn’t?” Breakdown hunched his shoulders. 

“HEY! WAIT UP!! WHERE DID YOU GO??” A gruff voice bellowed, echoing down the twisting caverns. 

“You brought MOTORMASTER?!” Hot Rod nearly choked on his energon. “He’s not a racer! That’s against the rules!!” 

“What were we supposed to do?” Wildrider slumped down and thumped his helm on the counter. “After he got so upset, we couldn’t just leave him again! Honestly, I felt kinda bad for the fraggin’ idiot. Fortunately, as a Combaticon, Swindle understands the situation. Why do you think Onslaught, Blast Off, Vortex and Brawl oversee security for the races? He probably couldn’t leave them behind either.” 

“G- GUYS??” The bellow lessened to a whimper. 

“Ugh!” Drag Strip threw his head back and groaned. “It’s hard to stay angry at him when I’m intimately aware that the big lug is terrified of being left alone. Especially since last time we left him, Motormaster picked a fight with wrong bot and wound up in the medibay. Someone go get him before he freaks out.” 

“Breakdown, you have the slowest time.” Dead End shoved him towards the door. 

“What?! No fair!” The blue and white sports car protested. 

“Next time be faster!” Drag Strip smirked above the rim of his energon cube. 

Breakdown whined about how the world was always out the get him as he shuffled off to retrieve their wayward gestalt teammate. Normally, only racers are invited, but Motormaster presented a bit of a special case. Not in any hurry to spend time with the lumbering brute, Hot Rod chugged his energon and bid his farewells to the Stunticons. He stopped by the bar to grab one for the road. 

“More energon, Hot Rod?” Blurr quirked a brow as he handed him another cube. 

“Yeah,” Hot Rod sheepishly rubbed back of his helm. “I haven’t had fuel this good in a long time. Can I get an extra one for Freeway?” 

“You don’t have to run errands for him. Freeway can get off his own aft and haul his chassis in here himself if he’s thirsty.” Blurr narrowed his bright blue optics and handed him a bunch of extra cubes. 

“Thanks, but I’m waiting for a friend out by the registration table so it’s no problem.” Hot Rod stashed the energon. He had no idea how Blurr secured so much quality energon for their races. Even Autobot bases weren’t so well stocked. Knowing Swindle was involved, it was probably best not to ask. 

“Alright, but if anyone gives you a hard time, you let me know. Okay?” 

“Yeah. Yeah.” Hot Rod waved over his shoulder on his way out of the bar. While he knew Blurr’s concern came from his spark, it grated on his circuits. He may be small, but Hot Rod could take care of himself. 

Hot Rod hustled through the caverns, following the amber light strings back to the registration desk. He temporarily dialed down his audials’ sensitivity to avoid any dripping liquid freaking him out again. 

“Hey! Hot Rod! Perfect timing!” Freeway hollered as soon as Hot Rod emerged from the caves. He hunched over the comm radio and snickered. “You gotta hear this! Trick’s really got her hands full with this one! It’s hilarious!” 

Hot Rod handed Freeway an energon cube and crouched over the radio. Through the intermittent static, he could hear Trickdiamond in the midst of a heated argument with an extremely disagreeable racer. 

:: _I don’t care who you fraggin’ think you are! None of that matters here! Unless you’re the second coming of Solus Prime, which if you are, frankly, I’m unimpressed, you follow MY rules or you get the frag out!::_

Hot Rod snorted. Trick doesn’t have time for anyone’s scrap. 

:: _I’m not putting anything you give me on my plating!!_ :: A familiar voice growled through the static. 

Hot Rod’s optics flared. His jaw dropped. He’d know that growl anywhere. 

“Holy scrap!” Freeway gasped, noticing his reaction. “Is THAT the friend you’ve been waiting for? Primus! You picked a live one!” 

:: _Solus save me! Just put the fraggin’ patch over your fraggin’ badge or I'll do it for you!_ ::

:: _Don’t touch me!_ :: Frantic desperation crackled on the edge of unbridled ferocity. 

That subtle hint of fear spurred Hot Rod into action. He transformed and tore down the quarter mile to Trickdiamond’s check in booth, Freeway’s laughter ringing in his audials. His engines roared and his spark spun faster. 

Deadlock had come after all!


	2. Patch Things Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super excited Hot Rod rescues socially awkward Deadlock from race registration!

Skidding to a stop at Trickdiamond’s check-in booth, Hot Rod found her with weapons drawn locked in a tense standoff with Deadlock, fangs bared and a gun in each hand. He needed to diffuse this situation in a hurry. Good thing he was nothing if not distracting! 

“Hey, good lookin’!” Hot Rod called. They both glanced at him out of the side of their optics. He transformed and hopped to his feet, flashing a pair of bold finger guns that he hoped were charming enough to disarm the two gunslingers. 

They both shifted their attention to him like he planned. Deadlock’s optics widened and the grip on his guns wavered for a split second. That slight distraction was all the time that Trickdiamond needed. She vaulted over her desk and swept Deadlock’s guns out of his hands with a stunning roundhouse kick. 

The satisfied smirk died on her lips as Deadlock drew two more guns before she finished her rotation. 

“Oh, for frag’s sake,” She huffed. Trickdiamond holstered her weapons. She gestured over her shoulder at Deadlock with her thumb and addressed Hot Rod. “Is this idiot a friend of yours?” 

Not accustomed to having his threats ignored, Deadlock’s optics shifted between the two of them. He tightened his grip on his guns and canted his finials back. He seemed so utterly out of his element. 

“Sure is!” Hot Rod grinned as his spark spun a supernova in his chest. Deadlock came!! 

“Then YOU deal with him.” Trickdiamond thrust a magnetic patch into Hot Rod’s hands and crossly folded her arms. “If he refuses wear the patch, he can’t race.” 

Hot Rod smiled and skipped towards Deadlock, patch in hand. “Here. Let me help you.” 

Deadlock froze. 

Undeterred by his drawn weapons, Hot Rod reached out and gently dusted off Deadlock’s Decepticon badge. Deadlock’s plating tensed under Hot Rod's touch. 

“You alright?” Hot Rod asked. 

Deadlock’s optics flared. His dark cheeks took on a faint pink glow that Hot Rod figured must be a reflection from his wide crimson optics. 

“Yeah! I’m fine! Totally fine!” Deadlock snapped. He holstered his guns and snatched the patch from Hot Rod's hands in one fluid motion. “Gimme that! I can do it myself!” 

Deadlock hastily plastered the patch over his badge. He huffed and quickly turned away. 

“Aww! Aren’t you two adorable?” Trickdiamond snickered. 

Deadlock folded his arms and glared at her. 

“Now, was that really so hard?” She shook her head before muttering, “Fraggin’ speedsters are all so dramatic!” 

“You’re a speedster too,” Hot Rod chided. 

“Yeah, but unlike you boltheads, I’ve got my scrap together,” Trickdiamond smirked. 

Deadlock’s plating twitched. His optics shifted uncomfortably between Hot Rod and Trickdiamond. 

“Alright, tuff stuff!” Trickdiamond moved her hand to guide Deadlock towards the dragstrip but he shied away beforehand could touch him. She held up he hands. “Whoa! It’s okay! Take it easy! All you gotta do is go over there, transform, and wait for the green light. When it lights up, run down to the checkered flag as fast as you can to record your qualifying time.” 

“Is that all?” Deadlock growled. He narrowed his optics suspiciously. 

“Yep! You complete your registration with Freeway at the other end. As far as I’m concerned, once you burn out of here, you’re his problem.” Trickdiamond shrugged. 

Deadlock turned to Hot Rod for reassurance. 

“That’s how it works!” Hot Rod nodded enthusiastically. “Come on! I’ll race with you!” 

“Nuh-uh!” Trickdiamond shook her head and crossed her arms. “You know the rules. Everybody runs qualifiers alone. Save the racing for tomorrow.” 

“Ugh. Fine!” Hot Rod threw his head back and moaned. “I’ll meet you at the registration desk!” 

Deadlock nodded, reluctant to leave. 

“I’m really glad that you came!” Hot Rod grinned. 

“Y- yeah? Me too.” Deadlock’s finials perked up and his plating twitched. He hustled over to the drag strip and transformed. Waiting for Trickdiamond to flip the green light, his engine revved. 

The green light flashed, and Deadlock tore down the track. Hot Rod’s spoiler bounced as the deep rumble of Deadlock’s engine resonated through his frame. Although the extra heavy armor bulked up the sleek lines of Deadlock’s alt, he was fast! They were gonna have great race tomorrow. 

Hot Rod turned towards Freeway’s registration desk when Trickdiamond grabbed his shoulder. He flinched from the unexpected contact and prayed she didn’t notice. 

“Hey, speed demon, pump the brakes a second,” She locked her red optics on him. 

“What?” He asked, careful to keep his voice from wavering. As hard as he tried to pretend everything was normal, he was still recovering from his wounds, both physical and mental. But Deadlock came! Right now, that made all his struggles worthwhile. 

“Listen punk, we don’t see each other apart from race week, but you’ve come to every single one without fail. Against my better judgement, I’ve kinda gotten attached to you. You may not know it, but your buddy there is pretty famous in some extremely dangerous circles.” 

“We’re friends. Don’t worry about it.” Hot Rod rolled his optics. Great. Another person concerned about poor little Hot Rod. If Trickdiamond knew his history, she might feel compelled to warm Deadlock instead. “Besides, I can take care of myself.” 

“I know or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. From one wayward spark with questionable friends to another, all I’m saying is be careful.” Trickdiamond nonchalantly shrugged and waved him along. 

“I will,” Hot Rod started jogging after Deadlock. He couldn’t explain it, but since they first met, he felt a deep kinship with Deadlock. He was sure Deadlock felt it too. After all they had both saved each other's lives. Deadlock even risked his life and murdered his own comrades to rescue Hot Rod from Turmoil. 

“Good.” Trickdiamond resumed her relaxed position, waiting for the next entrant to arrive. She stretched and propped her feet up on her desk. “I’d hate to have to start a personal vengeance quest against the galaxy’s most feared assassin.” 

“What?!” Hot Rod jerked to a halt. 

“What?” Trickdiamond asked innocently. 

“You just said-” 

“I didn’t say anything,” She smirked. 

“Whatever.” Hot Rod shook his head and ran after Deadlock. Assassin?! Deadlock?! Hot Rod wasn’t sure what surprised him more, the revelation or the fact that it did nothing to change his opinion about Deadlock. Besides, no matter how many people Deadlock killed, Hot Rod was certain his death tally was higher. Not many people could say they single-handedly burned an entire populated city to ashes. At least Deadlock had the decency to kill specific people on purpose. 

“Hey, Hot Rod!” 

Freeway’s call snapped him out his spiraling memories of Nyon. Hot Rod looked up to see Deadlock nervously shifting in front of Freeway’s desk, his bristling armor all on edge. 

“Hey!” Hot Rod grinned. 

Deadlock’s plating relaxed as he approached. 

“Check out you buddy’s time! He’s right behind you!” Freeway chuckled. “Swindle loves close odds! We stand to make a small fortune collecting the lost wagers tomorrow! I can’t wait to tell Trickdiamond!” 

Deadlock growled. 

“Right! Right! Let’s finalize your registration!” Freeway jotted a few notes in one of the unmarked datapads. “What name do you want to use?” 

Deadlock canted his finials back at asymmetrical angles. He cast a questioning glance at Hot Rod. 

“To keep all the racers’ identities a secret, no one uses their real names. See?” Hot Rod pointed at the screen behind Freeway, listing everyone’s nicknames and qualifying times. He proudly puffed out his chest noticing his name at the top. 

Quickly scanning the list of names, Deadlock barked a laugh when he came to the top: _Nobody_. He instantly hunched his shoulders and tucked his chin down as if he was ashamed of laughing. Hot Rod grinned and playfully elbowed him. Deadlock relaxed and smiled. 

“Well, whaddya wanna be called?” Freeway looked up from his datapad. 

Deadlock’s genuine smile curled into a wicked grin, revealing the tips of his fangs. He purred, “None of your business!” 

Hot Rod snorted. 

“What?” Freeway screwed up his face. 

“Just put ‘Nunya’ for short!” Hot Rod giggled. 

Deadlock cast him a sideways glance. Hot Rod heard his engine rumble. It almost sounded like a giggle. 

“Pfft! Nobody and Nunya,” Freeway shook his head with an exasperated sigh. “You two are ridiculous.” 

“Takes one to know one!” Hot Rod winked at Freeway. 

Unamused, Freeway glared at him. 

Another engine roared, signaling the arrival of another racer of the qualifying strip. 

“Get outta here and go bother someone else. I’ve got work to do,” Freeway put Deadlock’s datapad on his stack of completed registrations and picked up another one. 

“Alright! See ya later!” Hot Rod waved. 

Hot Rod grabbed Deadlock’s hand and tugged him along. At first Deadlock’s circuits locked up. Then he took a few tentative steps. His dark gray fingers twitched in Hot Rod’s golden grasp. They curled slightly, barely holding on, but the gentle pressure made Hot Rod smile and his spoiler bounce. All his nightmares burned away as his spark blazed. 

“He said the race is tomorrow,” Deadlock mumbled. He canted his finials back and gripped Hot Rod’s hand a little tighter. “What do we do until then?” 

“Whatever we want!” Hot Rod grinned. “Blurr and Swindle set up a racer’s lounge where most people hang out and grab some quality energon. I dunno where they got the fuel this year, but it’s really good! Wanna check it out?” 

“Is it crowded?” Deadlock winced. 

“Not really,” Hot Rod shrugged. “But I already snagged a bunch of extra energon for us, so we can skip it. It’s getting kinda late and I found a great place to watch the sunset.” 

“I think I’d like that better,” Deadlock offered a sheepish smile. 

“Awesome! I was hoping you’d say that! I usually like hanging out with the Stunticons, but they brought Motormaster this year. What a drag!” 

“Motormaster!” Deadlock snorted. “I’m glad you found somewhere else to hang out because I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to see me.” 

“Why?” Hot Rod asked. His optics widened as he recalled what the Stunticons told him earlier about someone kicking the scrap out of the big lug. “Oh sweet Primus! _You’re_ the one who put him in the medibay that last time they left him alone!” 

“Yeah, well, next time he’ll think twice about throwing his stupid weight around,” Deadlock’s face twisted as he tried not to smile. Despite his best efforts, a half grin quirked his lips flashing a hint of his fangs. 

“Holy frag!” Hot Rod burst out laughing. He pulled Deadlock around the side of the cave entrance, climbing up to the top of the rock formation. “Come on! I wanna hear all about it!”


	3. Warming Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hot Rod and Deadlock climb up to the top of a cliff to watch the sunset. Inspired by the view they share a few intimate memories. As night falls, the evening chill deepens. Hot Rod feels fine, but Deadlock looks a little cold. 
> 
> If only there was a way to keep warm...

Hot Rod clamored up the cliff. He regrettably had to release Deadlock’s hand and use both hands for climbing. Reaching the top first, he spun around to pull Deadlock up. To his surprise, the dark speedster grinned and easily vaulted up the last ridge. He pulled himself up into a full handstand on the ledge and then slowly bent backwards to land on his feet. 

“Showoff,” Hot Rod grumbled. 

Deadlock grinned and brushed some imaginary dust from his shoulder. 

“Well! What do you think?” Hot Rod twirled and spread his arms wide, gesturing out across the expansive view. 

From their vantage point, they could see for miles. The sun lazily sunk below the horizon casting the varied sandstone formations in a hazy golden glow. Lavender shadows lengthened and deepened to rich indigo. The strange rock arches and towering spires changed color in the slanting light. A chilly breeze swept across their stunning perch as the world’s warm color palette cooled from vibrant reds to solemn purples. 

“Wow!” Deadlock whispered. 

“Amazing! Right?” Hot Rod plopped down in the dust to watch the rest of the sunset. 

“Yeah.” Deadlock agreed. He cast a glance at Hot Rod with a shy smile. “It really is.” 

Hot Rod patted the ground next to him. Deadlock tentatively sat down, keeping his plating pulled in tight. Hot Rod pulled out the extra energon cubes that he got from Blurr and tossed one to Deadlock. 

“I found this spot right after I got here,” Hot Rod continued brightly. He sipped his top grade energon, satisfaction flowing through his lines. “When I land on a new planet, I gotta explore a bit. I like to find the high places. The view makes everything else seem small, ya know?” 

“You probably just like to feel tall,” Deadlock smirked. 

“Is that a joke about my size?” Hot Rod gasped in mock scandal before bursting into laughter. 

Deadlock shrugged and stared out across the horizon to hide his smile. 

They sat together in companionable silence for a few minutes, savoring their energon and watching the twisted rays of light play across the alien terrain. Hot Rod relaxed. The waning sun glittered on his new topcoat, but for once he didn’t dwell on the scars beneath it. 

“It is really beautiful,” Deadlock mumbled. “It reminds me of-” He immediately jerked like he shouldn’t have said anything. His optics widened, and his finials canted back. 

“Reminds you of what?” Hot Rod gently asked. 

Deadlock shook his head and curled around himself, hugging his knees to his chest. 

Hot Rod’s spark twisted in his chest. He could see so much of himself in Deadlock, protecting his real self behind a carefully maintained façade. If no one really knew you, no one could really hurt you. While Deadlock hid behind scowls and growls, Hot Rod forced a smile to mask his pain. His protective streak flared. 

“I’ll tell you mine first,” Hot Rod offered. Maybe if he shared something first, he could show Deadlock that he didn’t have to hide from Hot Rod. “I’ll admit that I do like high places because, of once, everyone has to look up to me.” 

Deadlock grinned. His engine rumbled a tentative laugh. 

“But there’s more to it,” Hot Rod continued. He stretched, reveling in the comfort of Deadlock’s solid presence. He probably shouldn’t share his deepest secrets, but he and Deadlock had rescued each other from the brink of death. Hot Rod patched Deadlock’s wounds with his own fire and Deadlock donated Hot Rod the energon directly from his fuel lines. Once you’ve shared those experiences, what else is there to hide? “It reminds me of Nyon.” 

“Nyon?” Deadlock’s finials perked up. Pain flashed through his deep crimson optics. “But you...” 

“Yeah. I burned it down. It’s not like I wanted to though. It sucked, but it was home,” Hot Rod felt the tears brimming his optics. Great. He was looking forward to spending time with Deadlock and now he was going to ruin it by getting all weepy. He reset his vocalizer and forced a smile. 

“Anyways, there was a cliff overhanging the outskirts of town. I loved racing up the winding road to the summit. It was awesome! Smooth curves and sheer drops on either side.” Hot Rod mimed the motions of speeding through the familiar curves with his hands, losing himself in the joy of those memories. “What a rush!” 

“Sound like fun,” Deadlock’s expression brightened. 

“Oh, totally! It was radical! Once you reached the top, you could see the whole city, not that it was much to look at. From that spot, I felt like I could keep watch over everybody. Protect everybody. I loved that view. You know, I stood in that exact stop when I activated the detonator...” Hot Rod trailed off. 

His spoiler drooped. Deadlock probably didn’t want to hear this scrap. He turned to offer a joking apology and found Deadlock studying him with curious bright red optics. 

“It reminds me of a dream,” Deadlock abruptly stated. 

Shocked by the speedster’s sudden openness, Hot Rod gestured for Deadlock to continue. 

“One time, me and Gasket climbed the abandoned Ibex Tower. It was stupid and extremely difficult on low fuel. I complained the entire time,” Deadlock rolled his optics, but a fond smile spread across his face. “From that height, you couldn’t see the leakers huddled in dark corners or the gutters full of acid. Rodion almost looked nice. Gasket sat right on the edge and rambled about how one day we would have our own ship and fly anywhere we wanted. Far above the rust, the world would always be beautiful.” 

“Sounds like a nice dream,” Hot Rod offered. He wanted to ask more about Gasket, but he didn’t dare interrupt. 

“That’s all it was,” Deadlock sighed bitterly. “Gasket... he watched out for me, but I failed to return the favor.” Deadlock lowered his head and turned away. 

Hot Rod’s spoiler drooped. He figured as much. Too many years of strife and war had left everyone with ragged holes in their sparks. 

“It’s okay to miss him,” Hot Rod laid a tentative hand on Deadlock’s forearm. His plating bristled on reflex, but he quickly calmed. “It’s also okay to keep that dream. Maybe not for Gasket, but for yourself.” 

“Myself? Ha!” Deadlock barked a sharp laugh. 

“Sure! You deserve nice things.” 

“Hardly. I’ve never done anything good in my entire life.” Deadlock mumbled. 

“You saved my life!” Hot Rod exclaimed. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s the BEST thing that anyone could have ever done!” 

“Twice.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I saved your live twice,” Deadlock’s face lit up with a cheeky grin. 

“No way!” Hot Rod laughed. “That first time with the Monstercon doesn’t count! I had that situation totally under control!” 

Deadlock gave him an incredulous look. 

“I did! In fact, I saved you! Because that jerk was looking to tear you into little bitty pieces. And don’t forget the bridge! I saved you from the explosion!” 

“What?! You caused the explosion in the first place! That shouldn’t count!” Deadlock laughed. It was rough and laced with static, but completely genuine. Hot Rod’s spark spun loops in his chest. 

“Maybe. But I didn’t have to save you. I chose to rescue your sorry chassis at great personal risk to my own wonderful self, so it totally counts! It does!” Hot Rod deliberately kept the focus on their first meeting. He wasn’t ready to revisit his time on Turmoil's ship yet. 

"You are ridiculous.” Deadlock smiled. His optics shimmered and he hastily brushed away his tears. Hot Rod pretended not to notice. “Gasket would’ve really liked you.” 

“Thank you.” Hot Rod placed his hand over his chest. Somehow he knew, deep in his spark, that Deadlock had just given him the highest possible compliment. 

The sun had slipped below the horizon. Darkness crept across the jagged terrain, swallowing up the pale path that marked tomorrow's race route. 

“It’s getting dark. Where do we spend the night?” Deadlock stretched and yawned. 

“Here is fine,” Hot Rod shrugged. “Most bots will stay up all night carousing in the lounge. We don’t get a chance to all hang out very often. Everyone just wants to have a bit of fun and race, regardless of faction.” 

“There’s never any fights?” Deadlock asked. 

“Not often. The Combaticons run security and no one wants to cross Onslaught. Once you get banned, there’s no way to come back. Racers are notified of each new race location by personal invitation from Swindle or Blurr. I shared mine with you which isn’t technically against the rules but not exactly encouraged either.” 

“Thanks. I appreciate your trust.” 

“No problem! I’ll admit that I had selfish motivations. I wanted to see you again, preferably when neither of us were dying. I’m really happy that you came.” 

Deadlock stared at him, blinking in shock. 

“Don’t act so surprised! I’m pretty sure you wanted to see me too or you wouldn’t have bothering sneaking away from all your important Decepticon duties.” Hot Rod snickered. 

“But- I- you-” Deadlock stammered. His dark cheeks flushed with pink light a little too bright to merely be reflected from his wide crimson optics. 

“It’s alright. I’m glad that we’re friends too!” Hot Rod grinned. 

“I need to recharge! I don’t want you beating me tomorrow!” Deadlock sputtered. Apparently having reached his friendship limit for tonight, he knocked back the rest of his energon cube in one gulp and curled up on the ground with his back to Hot Rod. “You take first watch!” 

“No problem! Go ahead and get your beauty sleep. Not like it’s gonna help you tomorrow!” Hot Rod giggled. 

Putting his hands behind his head for a pillow, Hot Rod stretched out and watched stars shimmer. He would have offered to take first watch anyway. Since returning from his torture session on Turmoil’s warworld, vivid nightmares woke him up screaming every night. 

Deadlock’s engine revolutions slowed, and his plating shifted softly. Hot Rod rolled his optics. Asleep already? Although he admired the trait of instant recharge that many soldiers developed, he never mastered it himself. Fraggin’ Kup could practically fall asleep on demand. He said it was important to be able to take your rest whenever you could get it. 

After the third time he lost count of the stars, a faint rustling whispered in Hot Rod’s audials. He turned to check on Deadlock. The dark speedster curled tightly around himself. His plating shivered and his vent fans whined softly. He looked... cold. 

“Idiot.” Hot Rod knocked his own helm. 

The unexplainable fire burning within his frame prevented Hot Rod from ever feeling cold. When the temperature dropped, he simply stoked his fire a little warmer. Deadlock didn’t have that luxury. 

Hot Rod crept over to Deadlock. His hand wavered above his shoulder. He hated to wake him. An idea that had been flitting through his processor for a while returned to the forefront. Convincing himself it was necessary for Deadlock’s survival and not for completely selfish reasons, he decided to go for it. 

Laying down quietly next to Deadlock, Hot Rod scooted closer until their backs brushed together. He heated his armor slightly. A faint golden glow washed over them both. Deadlock’s shivering stopped. His plating relaxed and he melted into Hot Rod’s warmth. 

Hot Rod reveled in the gentle pressure of Deadlock’s presence, the soft rumble of his fierce engine, the light caress of his shifting plating. He hadn’t felt this safe and secure for ages. Despite being cuddled up to the galaxy’s most feared assassin, Hot Rod slipped easily into recharge. 

For once, nightmares didn’t disturb him. Instead, he dreamed of having his own ship, flying high above a rainbow world.


	4. Ready Set GO!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up in the arms of a sleepy Deadlock marked the first time in Hot Rod's entire life that he didn't feel like moving. 
> 
> But time never stands still. Hot Rod and Deadlock meet up with the Stunticons and line up for the big race!!

Hot Rod came online gradually. He lazily stretched, in no hurry to get up. His engine purred in utter contentment. He hadn’t slept that well in a long time. For some intangible reason, he felt completely safe, like no nightmares could touch him. 

It took him a few moments to realize that the sensation of being surrounded by a cozy coat of armor wasn’t a dream. At some point last night, Deadlock rolled over and cuddled up to Hot Rod. Deadlock’s arms were wrapped around his waist and the larger speedster protectively curled around him. He clung to Hot Rod like he was clinging to a lifeline. 

Heat rushed to Hot Rod’s face as he nuzzled into the embrace, tucking his helm under Deadlock’s chin. He struggled to remind himself that Deadlock probably only held him so close because he got cold last night. 

Deadlock’s engine rumbled a deep purr, relaxed and content. Hot Rod reveled in the soft sound, knowing that Deadlock felt as comfortable as he did. 

The first indications of dawn brightened the deep indigo to pale turquoise on the eastern horizon. The brightest stars lingered overhead, soon to be outshone by the rising sun. 

Wishing this moment could last forever, Hot Rod snuggled closer to Deadlock’s solid frame and dozed off. 

When the rising sun warmed his plating, Hot Rod reluctantly opened his optics. He felt wonderfully rested. His nightmares had been so bad lately, he almost forgot what a good night’s sleep felt like. Roused by the roaring engines of racers preparing for today, Hot Rod sat up. 

Finding himself alone, Hot Rod scanned the area for Deadlock. The Decepticon speedster was perched on the edge of the cliff, watching the activity below. The early morning light glinted off his immaculate white paintwork and deepened the dark slashes of gray that crisscrossed his frame. His few gold accents gleamed like gems. 

“Good morning!” Hot Rod called. Something about the view sent a giddy jolt through all his circuits. 

“Morning,” Deadlock mumbled. He kept his optics locked on the horizon. 

“Enjoy your beauty sleep? It appears to have done wonders for you!” 

Deadlock snorted. His dark cheeks flushed. 

“Personally, I slept better than I have in ages,” Hot Rod paused for a second. Deadlock hadn’t said anything. Was the sensation of being held safely in Deadlock’s arms all a dream? 

“Me too,” Deadlock said quietly. He offered Hot Rod a tentative smile. “Thank you.” 

“Likewise!” Hot Rod beamed. It wasn’t a dream after all. 

“It’s been a long time since I felt... I dunno... safe?” 

“Hey! That’s what friends are for! We take care of each other!” 

“Maybe we shouldn’t be friends.” Deadlock pulled his plating tight and hugged his knees to his chest. “I bring disaster wherever I go.” 

“Then you got nothing to worry about around me! I AM a disaster!” 

Deadlock choked on whatever dismal retort he had prepared. Hot Rod flashed a cheeky grin and wiggled his spoiler. As soon as their optics met, they burst into laughter. 

“Oh my god.” Deadlock’s vent fans wheezed. 

“Come on! We gotta get moving! We don’t wanna be late!” Hot Rod skipped over and tugged Deadlock’s arm. 

“Okay! Okay! I’m coming! Who knew you would be in such a hurry to lose?” 

Despite their size difference, Deadlock let Hot Rod pull him to his feet. They clamored down the steep cliff to the valley below. Hot Rod filled Deadlock in on the general procedure for race day. After a short time to check their engines, warm their tires, and go over the maps one last time, everyone met out on the track. Trickdiamond and Freeway posted the official qualifying times and made sure that racers lined up in the correct order. 

“Sounds easy enough,” Deadlock shrugged. “Once the green light flashes, go as fast as you can until you reach the checkered flag.” 

“You got it! And you said that you’ve never raced before!” 

“No. I said it’s been a while. I’ve been in enough races to beat you.” 

“Oh! It that so! You’d have to get up pretty early to beat me!” 

“I _was_ up before you this morning!” Deadlock teased. 

“Pfft! That’s still not going to save you!” Hot Rod laughed. He playfully elbowed Deadlock’s side as they rounded the bend to join the race preparations. 

The nearly stumbled over the Stunticons who were involved in a rowdy five-way brawl. Dead End wriggled in Wildrider’s headlock while Motormaster held Dragstrip and Breakdown an arm’s length apart. They futilely swatted at each, playfully squabbling the entire time. 

Wildrider’s optics lit up when he seen them, and he finally dropped a very disgruntled Dead End. “Hot Rod! We missed you last night! Where were you?” 

“Well, I decided to spend some time with a good friend of mine.” Hot Rod grinned as Deadlock loomed over his shoulder. 

Motormaster’s crimson optics flared. He yelped, dropped his teammates and hid behind them. Deadlock flashed a fanged grin. 

“Whoa-ho-ho!” Wildrider sidled up to Hot Rod and elbowed him. “You and Deadlock?! I did NOT see that one coming!” 

“Humph! How did a little runt like you manage to bag the hottest speedster in the entire Decepticon army?” Dead End clamored to his feet and brushed the dust from his armor. 

“OooOOoo! Dead End! You think Deadlock is hot!!” Drag Strip teased. 

“Please!” Dead End rolled his optics. “It’s not even a matter of personal opinion. It’s just fact.” 

“Yeah. Everyone thinks Deadlock is hot.” Breakdown shrugged. 

Deadlock’s plating shifted and his face flushed in embarrassment. Hot Rod tried mightily not to laugh. 

“Everyone but Motormaster!” Wildrider snorted. 

“Sh- Shut up!” Motormaster whined. He crouched his massive frame as small as possible and still stuck out from behind his teammates. “You are all crazy! Deadlock is a maniac!” 

“I noticed you only said that Deadlock is the hottest Decepticon speedster. I suppose that means that _I_ am the hottest Autobot speedster.” Hot Rod grinned, effortlessly shifting the topic of discussion away from Deadlock before the mortified speedster bolted. 

“Y- you?!” Drag Strip sputtered. 

“Obviously.” Dead End sarcastically droned. 

“In that case, I’ll make my way to the front of the lineup!” Hot Rod sauntered past them with Deadlock following close behind. “I know you all can’t wait to see my taillights!” 

“You wish!” Breakdown muttered. “Nobody’s gonna beat us!” 

“Thanks for the support!” Hot Rod winked with a laugh. 

The Stunticons all groaned and rounded on Breakdown for playing into Hot Rod’s name joke again. Breakdown grumbled about how the world truly was always out to get him. Out of the corner of his optic, Hot Rod noticed Deadlock feint a step towards Motormaster. The massive silver transport flinched and fell over in his haste to scramble away. Deadlock chuckled and Hot Rod shook him head. 

“Hot Rod! Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence!” Trickdiamond called as he approached the front of the lineup. 

“Morning, Trick! Nice to see you too!” 

“You know the drill, punk! You qualified first, so you’re here.” She doubled checked her datapad and pointed to a temporary line drawn in the sand. 

“Thanks!” Hot Rod hopped on to his spot and stretched his joints. Excitement raced through his circuits like an electric shock. In a few moments he’d been speeding down the twisting racetrack, flying through every turn and chicane with Deadlock right at his side. He couldn’t wait! 

“Alright, tuff stuff!” Trick motioned to Deadlock. “You posted the second fastest time, so you’re here. Right next to our resident speed demon. Maybe you’ll be able to give him a run for his money. So far, no one else has.” 

Deadlock moved silently into his position. The dark speedster acted so stoic and cool around other people. Hot Rod wondered what it was about himself that Deadlock felt comfortable with letting his guard down. Then again, he found himself doing the same. 

Suddenly, Hot Rod wished the war was over for the completely selfish reason that he and Deadlock could stay together. Not because everyone had lost so much or deserved a better life. Not because the battles were long and cruel and terrible. Not because peace should be something achievable and not some holy ideal too precious for reality. But because he finally found someone special. Someone he understood and who understood him. And Hot Rod would give anything to keep him. Guilt gnawed at his spark. 

Trickdiamond continued down the line, leaving Hot Rod alone with his thoughts. 

“Ready to lose?” Deadlock purred. He stretched and Hot Rot tried not to stare. Despite all the heavy armor and artillery mods, Deadlock moved with lithe grace. 

“Pfft! I hope you were looking in a mirror when you asked that question!” 

“You wish!” 

“I DO wish!” Hot Rod grinned. 

“RACERS, TRANSFORM!!” Blurr’s voice boomed over the makeshift sound system. 

The sound of multiple transformation cogs echoed across the desert. Hot Rod revved his engine. He loved racing. At high speeds the world seemed to slow down. Shades of gray sharpened into black and white, every decision distilled down to binary options: left or right, accelerate or brake, stop or go. 

Hot Rod’s fiery alt mode shone in the early morning light. His glittery flame decals sparkled, and his newly repaired spoiler flared proudly. He felt more like himself than he had since Ratchet put him back together. 

A deep rumble vibrated through his frame as Deadlock revved his engine. Hot Rod cast an appreciative glance at his competition. The bright sunlight gleamed on his white panels and the dark slashes of gray shone like polished shadows. His engine roared deeper that Hot Rod’s high-pitched purr. 

“RACERS, ON YOUR MARKS!” 

Hot Rod focused all his attention on the tower of lights in front of him, the red light at the top lit up. He felt giddy. 

“GET SET!” 

The red light blinked out and the yellow light below lit up. Hot Rod revved his engine while holding on to his brakes. His frame shook with restrained power. 

“GO!!” 

The yellow light changed to green. The road of a hundred engines mingled with wild laughter and the race began. 

Hot Rod released his brakes mid rev and leapt off the line with a surge of power. Despite the cacophony of dozens of eager speedsters, he heard Deadlock’s distinct rumble right behind him. 

“Catch me if you can!” Hot Rod yelled. He pushed his throttle all the way to the limit and held it there, tearing down the racetrack at speeds that do an Aerialbot proud. 

Losing himself in the pure rush of speed, Hot Rod laughed reckless and free. His spark soared when he heard Deadlock’s uninhibited laughter join his own, soaring wildly above the desert.


	5. Til the End of the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hot Rod and Deadlock race through the desert, reveling in the friendly competition. While Hot Rod flies across the straightaways at an insane top speed, Deadlock hugs the corners with far better control. 
> 
> Each one drawing on their unique strengths, the race could go either way, if they get a chance to finish...

Hot Rod tore down the opening straightaway, blanketing everyone behind him a cloud of orange dust. He vaguely heard Drag Strip yammering protests. Laughing, Hot Rod gunned his engine harder. If anyone else didn’t like it, there were welcome to try and pass him. 

Streaking towards the first set of twisting curves, Hot Rod backed off his throttle just a bit. While he could practically fly in a straight line, he tended to lose control in the turns. If he wasn’t careful, he’d spin out, fall behind, and then have to work twice as hard to win. 

Hot Rod whipped to the left and then dove right, swinging hard as the course rapidly changed direction. As he took one turn a little wide, a dark shadow streaked past him. He gasped in shock. 

“Catch you later, loser!” Deadlock laughed. 

“Oh no you don’t!” 

Hot Rod took the next turn faster, tires scrabbling for purchase on the loose gravel. He marveled at Deadlock’s skillful high-speed maneuvering around the corners. He dove into each turn, drifting on his momentum and then rapidly wrenched his frame in the opposite direction. It was like a high-octane ballet. 

“You never told me you could drift!” Hot Rod exclaimed. He tried to replicate Deadlock’s smooth movements. 

“Wh- what did you call me?!” Deadlock stammered. He nearly wiped out mid-turn. 

“I didn’t call you anything!” Hot Rod took advantage of Deadlock’s stumble to close the gap between then. “I SAID you can drift like a pro! You know, power sliding around the bends without losing speed. Promise to teach me how!” 

“R- right. Drift. Around the corners.” Deadlock mumbled. 

“Hell yeah! If I could do that half as good as you do, I’d be totally unbeatable!” 

“Tell you what,” Deadlock shouted over his roaring engine. “If you beat me, I’ll teach you!” 

“Oh! It is so ON! I was going to beat you before just for fun, but now the stakes have risen!” 

The distinct rumble of the pack of race cars thundered behind them. As the pack closed in the tight corners of the twisting canyon, the ground shook. Scree skittered down the cliffs and precariously positioned boulders clattered from their perches. 

The cacophony reached a crescendo as they sped towards the end of the canyon. Hot Rod double checked the map. His engine purred. Once they cleared the last few turns, there was a long straightaway. He planned on totally dusting Deadlock. 

As if Deadlock could sense his thoughts, the dark speedster positioned himself directly in front of Hot Rod. 

"Get ready for a lesson in speed!” Hot Rod teased. 

“You gotta get around me first!” Deadlock swerved slightly, blocking every move that Hot Rod made. 

“You know that I’m faster!” 

“I do! That’s why I won’t let you pass!” 

“You expect to keep up with me in all that heavy armor?” Hot Rod chided. He tried to edge around Deadlock only to be blocked again. His engine whined. He was starting to get frustrated. 

“I don’t have to if you can’t get past me. It doesn’t matter if you’re faster if I’m better!” Deadlock laughed. His large engine purred. 

“If that’s how it is, then I don’t have to hold back anymore!” Hot Rod nudged Deadlock’s bumper. 

The dark speedster wobbled for a split second and Hot Rod took full advantage in his lapse of control. He gunned past Deadlock just as they rounded the last turn into the straightaway. Hot Rod whooped with delight and pushed his throttle wide open. 

“See ya at the finish, slowpoke!” Hot Rod teased as he sped away. 

“Hey! No fair!” Deadlock whined as Hot Rod blew past him. 

Hot Rod laughed, flying fast and free across the alien terrain. Nothing else mattered. Not Nyon. Not the war. Not even how upset Ratchet is going to be once he finds out Hot Rod snuck out against doctor’s orders. In this moment, the only things that existed were himself, Deadlock, and the course ahead. 

SCREEEECH!! CRASH!!! 

The high-pitched shriek of rending metal split the air. Hot Rod shuddered. Wrecks rarely happened and that sounded like a bad one. A cascading racket of subsequent screeches followed a strange roar. Hot Rod slammed on his brakes and spun to a stop. That didn’t sound like a normal pile up. 

Deadlock swerved around him at half speed. 

“WAIT!” Hot Rod transformed and craned his neck to see through the dust kicked up behind them. “Something sounds wrong!” 

The roars magnified as if coming from every direction. Then the screaming started. 

Deadlock screeched to a stop, transformed, and instantly materialized at Hot Rod’s side, weapons drawn. 

“What do you think it is?” Deadlock asked. His vent fans whirled from their recent exertion. 

“I dunno, but it sounds bad.” The fuel churned in Hot Rod’s tanks. He could feel his systems slipping into shock. He recognized those types of screams. The frantic sounds of an unexpected catastrophe falling heavily on an unsuspecting populace. It sounded like the destruction of Nyon. 

“This ever happen before?” 

Hot Rod shook his head. “We should go check on everyone else.” 

He had no idea what could have befallen the rest of the racers. As he jogged back down the racetrack, his audials began to pick up scattered weapons fire and shifting transformation cogs. They were under attack! 

Despite Deadlock’s cry for caution, Hot Rod broke into a run. Races were sacred! War wasn’t welcome here! He scratched at the gray patch on his chest. Was the symbolic setting aside of factions not enough? Why are their best efforts never enough?? 

“HOT ROD!” Deadlock screamed a warning that came too late. 

A crushing blow from the left knocked Hot Rod off his feet. He crashed hard into the dust, vents choking on the fine particulates. Sharp edges cut into his armor and his plating groaned under a heavy weight. Hot Rod gasped as his optics gradually focused on blurry gray and teal frame of his attacker. 

Claws gripped his limbs, holding him down. Powerful jaws filled with rows of razor-sharp fangs clacked menacingly in his face. Large green optics bore into him. The thing’s barbed tail thrashed wildly. 

“AHH!!” Hot Rod yelped. He wriggled helplessly in the thing’s iron grasp, sickened by the gouges scraped into his newly patched plating. “GET OFF!!” 

The creature roared in his face. Hot Rod frantically struggled to escape. 

BANG! 

A full force of a point blank gunshot knocked the monster off Hot Rod. The thing rolled through the dust and tumbled to a halt a short distance away. 

“HOT ROD!” Deadlock shouted, a mix of panic and relief flooding his voice. He leapt over the prone speedster and planted himself before Hot Rod, weapons still trained on the fallen creature. 

Hot Rod scrambled to his feet. His vent fans whirled, and his spark spun loops in his chest. He knew he should be more concerned about whatever just tried to eat him, but... Deadlock had just saved his life. Again. Before he could give that significance a second thought, another creature dove towards them. 

“LOOK OUT!” Hot Rod crouched and swept Deadlock’s legs out from under him, knocking him down. 

The creature sailed throw the empty space once occupied by Deadlock. When it hit the ground and rounded on them, Hot Rod blasted his flames right in its face. The thing squealed and stumbled backwards, landing near the first one. 

“Thanks.” Deadlock stared up at Hot Rod, crimson optics wide. 

“Likewise!” Hot Rod grinned. He pulled Deadlock to his feet. 

They stared at the two fallen creatures. Hot Rod shivered. Those things must have attacked the rest of the racers. The screams and sounds of battle rose higher. 

“What are those things?” Hot Rod mused. He wanted to get a closer look, but the memory of those fangs gnashing in his face made him keep his distance. 

“Sharkticons.” Deadlock stated grimly. 

“You know those them?!” 

“I don’t _know_ them! It’s not like we’re friends or anything!” Deadlock folded his arms. “But the Decepticon army has encountered them in the past. They usually live on deserted asteroids. Although the Sharkticons generally mind their own business, they fight ferociously if provoked.” 

The two fallen sharkticons began to stir. 

“I should also mention that they’re practically indestructible.” Deadlock winced. 

“Fraggin’ hell!! How did you beat them before?” 

“We kinda didn’t? We had to retreat and Megatron blasted the asteroid to bits in a fit of rage.” 

“Yikes!” 

Hot Rod chewed his lip. The attack didn’t make sense. Blurr, Swindle and their crew had been here for days preparing everything and most racers arrived yesterday. No one had encountered anything out of the ordinary. Why did the Sharkticons attack their race? Why now? 

Scanning the horizon, Hot Rod spotted a cave opening near the edge of the canyon. Several large Sharkticons crouched low by the entrance. Dozens of small objects swarmed around their feet. Hot Rod gasped as the sudden realization struck him like a runaway train. The energon in his lines turned to ice. 

“Holy frag! Deadlock! They have hatchlings!” 

“What?!” 

Hot Rod pointed towards the tiny Sharkticons huddling against their huge guards. 

“They must live in that canyon! They’re only protecting their hatchlings!” 

“Against what?!” 

“Against us, stupid! The race made such a racket! They probably thought all the roaring engines and trembling ground meant we were invading them!” 

“But we weren’t” Deadlock growled. “They attacked us for no reason!” 

“Not to them! Oh, Primus! We have to fix this before we kill each other over a misunderstanding!” 

“We can’t! Things are too far gone! The best we can hope for is that the other racers distract them enough to allow us to get back to our shuttles. Nobody can save everyone!” 

Hot Rod grinned with a dangerous gleam in his optics. “He sure as hell can!” 

“Hey, now. That is _not_ what I meant!” 

The deep clanging of a multi-functional transformation cog rose above the din. Hot Rod and Deadlock locked optics. 

“Damn in all to hell! Menasor!” Deadlock groaned. 

“MENASOR CRUSH!” The Stunticons gestalt rose above the dust and towered over the other racers fighting for their lives against the swarm of Sharkticons. He scooped up a handful of the thrashing creatures and threw them squealing across the desert. That bunch was in for a hard landing. Hot Rod hoped they were as durable as Deadlock claimed. 

“Here’s the plan-” Hot Rot began. 

“Whoa! There is no plan! We came to race and now we’re fighting for our lives! You can’t stop the Sharkticons. Even Megaton had to run away! The only plan is SURVIVE!” 

Something about the way Deadlock’s vocal processer cracked as he screamed that last line twisted Hot Rod’s spark. He had a feeling that _survive_ had been Deadlock’s only plan for a long time. 

“No. We can stop the fighting. No one else needs to get hurt.” Hot Rod pointed to an especially gnarled Sharkticon standing proudly on the precipice towering above the fight. “I bet that’s their leader. I’m going to go tell him this is a big misunderstanding.” 

“Nobody can talk to the Sharkticons!” 

Unable to resist another name-based joke, Hot Rod flashed a cheeky grin. 

“For frag’s sake!” Deadlock dragged his palm down his face. “Are you serious?” 

“Dead serious! I’m doing this with or without you, but I could really use your help.” 

Deadlock faltered for a second. His plating shifted and his finials canted back. He sighed deeply. 

“Since we’ve met, there is no “without you”.” Deadlock’s face eased into a reluctant grin. “I think about you all the time.” 

“So, you’re with me til the end of the line?” Hot Rod’s spark spun wildly. He had hoped for that answer but feared that he was asking too much. 

“Til the end of the line... and whatever comes after. What do you need me to do?”


	6. Nobody Can Do It!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against better judgement and common sense, Hot Rod races to talk to the Sharkticon leader while he sends Deadlock to stop Menasor.
> 
> Will they be able to broker a truce before race day is completely ruined?!

Hot Rod sped towards the cliff and what had to be the Sharkticons’ leader. He dodged vicious attacks as the creatures flung themselves at him. His plan was simple: get to their leader, explain that their race was by no means meant to be an invasion of their home, and save everyone. Wham. Bam. In the van. 

Deadlock had the tougher job, although he didn’t seem to think so. While Hot Rod hurried to parley with the Sharkticon leader, Deadlock sped to the other racers. He had to stop Menasor from hurling Sharkticons across the desert if Hot Rod was going to convince them that they meant no harm. The wicked grin that curled across Deadlock’s face sent a shiver down Hot Rod’s struts. He had a feeling Deadlock was going to enjoy himself. 

Reaching the base of his target cliff and not finding a road up, Hot Rod transformed and started climbing in bot mode. Quickly scaling the rock face, hand over hand, reminded him of scrambling through the dilapidated buildings of Nyon, always on step ahead of Sentinels goons. 

He flung himself over the crest of the cliff and found himself face to face with an exceedingly large, exceedingly angry Sharkticon. 

“Who are YOU?!” The Sharkticon bellowed. 

“Who are YOU?! Hot Rod retorted automatically. He mentally kicked himself. Way to make a first impression. 

“I am Lord Gnaw! Ruler of the Sharkticons!” 

“And I am...” Hot Rod stumbled over his answer. He didn’t have a fancy title or even an elaborate name. He had nothing special. But somewhere, far below, Deadlock believed in him enough to follow his wild plan. Perhaps, being a Nobody was enough. “I am Hot Rod of Nyon!” 

“Guards! Kill this Hot Rod of Nyon!” 

Heavily armored Sharkticons rushed in on him from all sides. Their barbed tails thrashed, and they snapped their powerful jaws. 

“WAIT!” Hot Rod screamed. He burst into flames. The Sharkticons quailed at the sight. Hot Rod sent scorching jets of fire from his fists and twirled around, ringing himself and Lord Gnaw inside an impenetrable conflagration. “I came here to talk to you!” 

“Talk? Is that what you call this inferno?!” Lord Gnaw gestured at the flames with disdain. Although he seemed unimpressed, Hot Rod could hear the guards’ hushed whispers about the manifestation of their flame deity. Hot Rod grinned. 

“Yes. I need to be sure you’ll listen.” 

“Very well then. Talk.” 

Hot Rod dropped to one knee. “I have come to apologize.” 

A collective gasp went up from the gathered Sharkticons. Even Lord Gnaw’s green optics glowed with curiosity. Hot Rod wished he had paid more attention to Jazz’s diplomacy lectures, or Optimus’ speeches, or Prowl’s pragmatic way of stating the facts, or hell, even Megatron’s impassioned tirades. He couldn’t think of any proper way to say what he wanted so he decided to speak from the spark, honest and unrefined. 

“We didn’t mean to scare you. We are not invaders but racers. Our people are at war, but many of us have friends on both sides. We gather in secret to talk, to play, and to race. After many long years of war, we want to remember the fleeting joys pf peace.” 

“PEACE?! It sounded like an invading army!” Lord Gnaw accused. 

“I’m sorry. Since we don’t get to use them that often, we forget how loud our racing engines sound. We do our best to find uninhabited areas. I assure you, we did not mean to trespass.” 

“I suppose we are rather well hidden here, and we like it that way! Sharkticons want only to be left alone. All that racket terrified our pups!” 

“If we had known you were here, we would not have chosen this site for our race.” Diplomacy was hard work! Despite his natural inclination to stubbornly deny Lord Gnaw’s accusations, Hot Rod had to admit, the Sharkticon made valid points. Hot Rod hoped Deadlock was having better luck stopping the racers. 

“What about that giant monster flinging my people in every which direction?! It’s going to take forever to find everyone!” 

“Menasor is reacting to what he thinks is an attack on his friends. Much like you, we both only want to protect our people. I have sent my closest friend to stop him.” 

Almost as if on cue, Menasor screamed. He whimpered and broke apart into five separate Stunticons. The horrific screeching of battle diminished. Hot rod laughed. He couldn’t have planned it better! A combiner was a formidable opponent. He wondered what Deadlock did to have such an immediate effect, but he suspected that it had something to do with Motormaster’s fear of him. Deadlock wielded intimidation more effectively than many people could brandish a gun. 

The Sharkticon guards murmured, their snarls fading to quiet awe. 

Lord Gnaw turned to him with new respect in his bright optics. Hot Rod's fire reflected brightly on his jagged plating. “You sent your friend to stop that monster?” 

“Yeah. I knew he could get results.” 

“While you came here to speak with me yourself? Despite the danger to both of you?” 

Hot Rod nodded. 

“And yet YOU are not the ruler of your people?” Lord Gnaw slowly wagged his tail. 

“No! I’m- I’m just…” Hot Rod drew a blank. What exactly was he? Nobody important, no matter how hard he wished something to the contrary. He mentally flailed, struggling to come up with something, but it was getting difficult to focus. 

Hot Rod’s flames raced across his plating and burned hot in the circle he wreathed around himself and Lord Gnaw. His fresh weld seams itched beneath his glossy topcoat and energon oozed from the new scratches on his armor. This parley was the longest he had ever maintained such intense fire. He needed to wrap it up soon or he might pass out. 

“Well? What are you?” 

“I- I don’t really know.” Hot Rod answered honestly. “I try my best, but it’s usually not good enough. I’ve made loads of mistakes, but I want to be better. I want to protect my friends. I selfishly wish I could end our war only so I could stay with someone that I care about. But, unfortunately, I’m Nobody.” 

Lord Gnaw studied him with his large green optics. Then he waved one spindly arm. The Sharkticon guards fell back and hustled to convey the order to withdraw. Hot Rod’s spoiler sagged with relief. He dismissed the ring of fire surrounding them, but kept the flames dancing across his plating, just in case. 

“I like you, Hot Rod, Nobody of Nyon!” Lord Gnaw grinned, wide and full of dagger-like fangs. “You admit your wrongs, you protect your people, and you have concern for others.” 

“Th- thanks.” Hot Rod flushed. Validation from an alien lord?! It was a little unorthodox, but Hot Rod would take what he could get! If only the Autobots took him half as seriously as Lord Gnaw, he’d finally get a little respect. 

“One day, you will be an important leader for your people!” 

“You really think so!” Hot Rod gasped, slightly embarrassed at the eagerness in his voice. 

“If your people know what’s good for them!” Lord Gnaw chuckled. “As for today... I will withdraw my soldiers. You will not see us again provided that you all leave our lands tomorrow.” 

“Can we at least stay and party tonight?” 

“No more races?” 

“No more races! I promise!” 

“Granted! Enjoy your last night of peace, Hot Rod of Nyon! But overstay your welcome and you will face my wrath!” Lord Gnaw gnashed his teeth. 

“Thank you, Your-” Hot Rod fumbled for a fancy title. He blurted out the first thing that entered his mind, “Your Sharkness! We appreciate your generosity!” 

“And I appreciate your candor, Hot Rod of Nyon.” 

“HOT ROD!!” 

“Deadlock?” Hot Rod startled. He’d recognize that panicked growl anywhere. 

“Hold on! I’m coming!” 

Hot Rod peered over the edge of the cliff to see Deadlock frantically scrabbling up the rock face. The dark speedster might be all smooth grace on wheels, but he definitely needed more practice climbing. 

“Is that your trusted friend?” Lord Gnaw joined him at the precipice. 

Hot Rod nodded. His spark spun to see Deadlock rushing to his side. He leaned over the edge, “Relax! I’m fine! Lord Gnaw is totally cool!” 

Deadlock scrambled to the top and Hot Rod hefted him up. The dark speedster’s crimson optics darted between Hot Rod, wreathed in flames, and Lord Gnaw, polished armor bristling. He slightly edged himself protectively in front of Hot Rod. 

No longer alone and on the brink of exhaustion, Hot Rod let go of his fire. The otherworldly glow flickered and went out. Deadlock hooked an arm around his waist despite the lingering heat. Hot Rod sagged against his firm support. 

“Friend of Hot Rod of Nyon!” Lord Gnaw addressed Deadlock. 

“Deadlock of None of Your Business,” he growled and canted his finials back, tightening his grip on Hot Rod. 

“It’s alright,” Hot Rod whispered, stifling his laughter. While he appreciated Deadlock’s support, he didn’t want to risk renewing hostilities. Deadlock’s plating relaxed when Hot Rod took his hand. 

“Very well,” Lord Gnaw chuckled. “Hot Rod of Nyon, exalted Nobody, and Deadlock of None of Your Business! Today, you have saved your people from our wrath. Enjoy your temporary truce and work for the day that it becomes permanent. We have a saying: Life is a desert until you find a drop of water. It is a great fortune that you have each found one.” 

“What does that mean?” Hot Rod scrunched his face. He swayed on his feet, exhaustion finally getting the better of him. 

Deadlock didn’t say anything. His expression softened and he adjusted his grip on Hot Rod to support the tired speedster. Hot Rod instantly relaxed and allowed Deadlock to take his weight. 

“It’s a proverb! You have to figure it out for yourselves!” Lord Gnaw cackled. He turned away and disappeared down the dark yawning cavern, flanked by his guards. “Fare well!” 

Hot Rod and Deadlock stared at the dark cave for a few moments. Silence descended upon the desert. 

“What just happened?” Deadlock asked. 

“I was about to ask you the same thing! But Lord Gnaw agreed to call off his warriors once you stopped Menasor. We can stay until tomorrow as planned, but no more racing.” 

Deadlock shook his head in disbelief. A wide grin spread across his face. He curled around Hot Rod in a way that felt suspiciously like a hug. Hot Rod melted into his embrace. 

“What?” 

“I guess it’s true. Nobody CAN talk to Sharkticons!” 

“Oh my god!” Hot Rod gasped. He caught Deadlock’s optics and they both burst into laughter.


	7. Until We Meet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hot Rod and Deadlock tell Blurr and Swindle all the details of their run in with the Sharkticons and are shocked to discover some behind-the-scenes information about the races.
> 
> Knowing that their time together is drawing to an end, Hot Rod wants to have Deadlock all to himself. They duck out of the party to watch one last sunset together.

“I can’t believe you!! Hot Rod!! What you did was so incredibly, stupendously dangerous!!” Blurr paced rapidly back and forth while Swindle sipped a cube of bright green engex with practiced disinterest. 

Hot Rod rolled his optics. While an alien shark king praised his character, among his friends and peers, he still got no respect. 

After Lord Gnaw and the Sharkticons left, Hot Rod and Deadlock hurried back to the race headquarters. Once Deadlock disarmed Menasor, he ordered everyone back to the lounge and staging area for their own safety. Hot Rod was infinitely glad that Deadlock came after him. First because he desperately wanted to spend as much time together as possible and second because he probably couldn’t have drove back to the lounge by himself. Burning up so much fuel by sustaining his flames for so long left him near empty. Deadlock insisted on carrying him most of the way, and nestled comfortably in his big strong arms, Hot Rod felt no need to argue. 

The racers packed the lounge, all jittery nerves and high energy from the Sharkticons’ unexpected attack. Hot Rod and Deadlock pushed past a hundred different conversations, straight to Blurr and Swindle’s makeshift office. 

“But I didn’t even tell you what happened yet!” Hot Rod protested. He hoped it didn’t come out too much like whining. Judging from Deadlock’s snicker, it probably did. 

“You didn’t have to, punk.” Swindle smiled, smooth as oil, flashing one gold-plated fang. “We saw it all on our cameras. Blurr and I watched your entire diplomatic tango with the Lord of the Sharkticons.” 

“Cameras?” Hot Rod heard Freeway mention wagers before, but he never considered how people would bet on the races. 

“Sure,” Swindle took an easy sip of his drink. “We follow all the racers with cameras.” 

Deadlock bristled. 

“Relax, killer,” Swindle swirled his drink. “No one sees the feed except the high-rollers that I personally invite to place wagers. How do you think we pay for all of this? I’m not running a charity.” 

“That’s beside the point!” Blurr continued his rant, pacing faster and faster. “You could have been hurt or killed or- or- worse!” 

“What’s worse than being hurt or killed?” Hot Rod asked cheekily. 

“I don’t know!” Blurr threw his hands up. “But it could have happened! I don’t know what to say!” 

“How about ‘Thank you’?” Deadlock suggested, completely deadpan. He kept his optics trained on Blurr and took a sip of the energon cube Swindle offered them earlier. 

Hot Rod snorted and nearly choked on his own energon. He had already downed three and was working on his fourth. Using his flames so long when his frame wasn’t 100% healed consumed most of his fuel reserves. 

Blurr sputtered and Swindle burst out laughing. 

“I like your style!” Swindle grinned and his golden fang gleamed. It sent a shiver down Hot Rod’s struts. “If Blurr is too wound up to say it, I will: Thank you.” 

Hot Rod’s jaw dropped. Deadlock’s finials canted back. 

“Thank you for saving the other racers. Thank you for soothing the Sharkticons’ wrath. And most importantly thank you for giving us the most profitable race in a long time!” 

“It’s not supposed to be about the money. How many times to I have to tell you!” Blurr groaned. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Hot Rod got the impression that they were witnessing a familiar argument. 

“Blurr, baby, it’s always about the money. You know that! Back me up on this, Deadlock! Despite the purple badge, I know you run a lucrative mercenary side-hustle.” 

Deadlock growled. Another detail about his friend that should have shocked Hot Rod but didn’t. As another person from a rough background, he understood the value of grasping any opportunity for independence. After all, financial security bought safety. 

“No? Alright, fine. Keep your secrets.” Swindle shrugged. “Once it became apparent that the race was not going to happen as planned, I started taking wagers on your survival.” 

“You WHAT?!” Hot Rod gasped. 

“I know right! An excellent way to salvage the event if I do say so myself.” 

Deadlock’s hand found Hot Rod’s and he gripped it tightly. 

“Pretty much everyone bet on Lord Gnaw having you for lunch. Your peaceful solution netted me a ton of shanix. And you,” Swindle pointed at Deadlock. “The odds had Menasor crunching you into dust. No one seen you dismantling him with a single smoldering wink.” 

“With a wink?!” Hot Rod snickered. He’d have liked to seen that. Maybe Swindle would give him the footage. Hot Rod imagined receiving the full force of a Deadlock wink would be devastating. 

Deadlock grinned. 

“Taking wagers on bots’ survival,” Blurr muttered, burying his face in his hands. “It’s an absolute travesty. Everything went so wrong this year. Maybe we shouldn’t have the races anymore.” 

“NO!” Hot Rod and Deadlock blurt out simultaneously. 

Deadlock flushed and nodded for Hot Rod to speak. Hot Rod smiled, grateful that for once, someone trusted him to take the initiative. 

“I mean, please continue to hold race week. We all look forward to it. Coming to the races reminds us all that we have so much in common.” Hot Rod gestured to the gray patch, singed black around the edges, still plastered on his chest. “We have to know that our life can continue without the factions. That some things matter more.” He stared purposefully at Deadlock. 

Deadlock’s finials perked up and he quickly turned away. Hot Rod squeezed his fingers. 

“Thank you, Hot Rod. I really appreciate that.” Blurr finally stopped pacing but all his plating twitched. Hot Rod wondered if Blurr ever stopped moving completely. 

“Alright, kids.” Swindle shooed them towards the door. “Go out and enjoy the party. You’ve earned it. Blurr and I have a lot to discuss.” 

Officially given the brush off, Hot Rod and Deadlock wandered through the lounge filled with raucous laughter. Deadlock’s plating clamped down and his optics shifted nervously. 

“Wanna get outta here?” Hot Rod grinned. He’d much rather have Deadlock all to himself with the little time they had left together. 

Deadlock nodded enthusiastically and Hot Rod pulled him down the cave to the exit. They had to duck into the shadows once to avoid the rowdy Stunticons, loudly bickering about who is fastest. Motormaster crouched behind his teammates, optics darting around, likely scanning for Deadlock. 

After the Stunticons passed, Hot Rod and Deadlock slipped out of the cave and headed for the cliff. 

“Slipping away without saying goodbye!” 

They both whirled around to find Trickdiamond leaning against the cave wall with her arms crossed. 

“Hey, Trick!” Hot Rod waved. “We’re not leaving yet. We just needed a little more space.” 

“Pfft!” Trickdiamond rolled her optics. “I don’t blame you. Why do you think that I volunteered for first watch? Because anyone going into that lounge right now is in danger of overdosing on stupidity.” 

Deadlock pretended not to laugh. 

“You did good out there today, punk.” Trickdiamond tossed a few high quality energon cubes to Hot Rod. Then she tossed some to Deadlock too. “You too, tuff stuff.” 

Deadlock easily caught his cubes. Hot Rod fumbled one and dropped the other. He hastily scooped it up. 

“Thanks!” 

“If I don’t see you before you leave, take care of each other, you hear.” Trickdiamond winked. 

_Take care of each other._

The significance of that statement blindsided Hot Rod. Not take care of yourselves, but each other. He recalled Lord Gnaw’s proverb. Is that what he meant? That they had found each other?? 

“Of course,” Deadlock grunted. 

Trickdiamond laughed and Hot Rod flushed. He never expected Deadlock to respond first. 

“You know it!” Hot Rod grinned. Flames danced along his spoiler. When Deadlock blushed, he didn’t even try to hide it. “But we’ll see you before we leave!” 

“Whatever. Later, losers!” Trickdiamond waved over her shoulder as she continued her routine patrol. 

When Hot Rod offered his hand, Deadlock immediately took it. Together they climbed up the cliff where they spent last night. They sat of the edge of the precipice to watch another sunset and sipped their energon. Hot Rod savored every drop, knowing it would likely be a long while until he had fuel this good again. Judging from the way Deadlock licked the last drops off the rim of the cube, he had the exact same thought. 

As the sun slowly dipped toward the horizon, Hot Rod’s spark sputtered in his chest. Yesterday the lengthening shadows brought the promise of a new day spent racing together, but today they only heralded the coming darkness. Tomorrow he and Deadlock would part ways again. He picked at the gray patch on his chest, wishing that this moment could last. 

Inching closer, Deadlock brushed his shoulder. Hot Rod leaned into his touch and Deadlock tentatively wrapped an arm around him. Hot Rod sighed as the shadows deepened. 

“I’ve asked you to come with me before-” Hot Rod began. 

Deadlock’s plating stiffened. 

“So, I’m not going to ask again. I don’t want to ask you something that you can’t answer. Instead, I’m going to make you an offer.” 

“An offer?” Deadlock asked, curiosity burned bright in his crimson optics against the gathering gloom. 

“Yeah. You said that you would be with me until the end of the line. I am there for you too, always. If you ever need a friend or a place to go, I will always be there. I promise. You know where to find me.” 

“Thank you- I-” Deadlock floundered. He curled around Hot Rod. “I haven’t had anyone like that in a long time. Not since...” 

“Since Gasket?” 

Deadlock nodded. 

Hot Rod hugged him tightly. Everyone needed some form of stability in their lives. He hadn’t realized until today that Deadlock had become that for him. Someone who believes in him, who trusts his ideas, who had his back through whatever the universe flings his way. He wanted to be that for Deadlock too. 

“Do you think Blurr and Swindle will have another race?” Deadlock asked softly, nuzzling Hot Rod’s helm. 

“I sure as hell hope so!” Hot Rod grinned. His spark spun wildly in his chest. “You’re coming, right?” 

“I wouldn’t miss it. Wild Sharkticons couldn’t keep me away.” 

Hot Rod snorted as he tried to stifle his laugh. When Deadlock’s frame rumbled with a repressed giggle, he lost it. They held each other and laughed uncontrollably, reveling in each other’s warm presence. 

Twilight deepened into evening. A sky filled with unfamiliar stars winked into view. The color temperature of the desert shifted from warm pinks and oranges to cool blues. A gentle breeze caressed their frames. 

Hot Rod burned every sensation into his brain. Even though they may go their separate ways and a long time may pass before they meet again, they would always have each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone joining me for HotLock Week 2020!! I've had this fic kicking around in my wip folder for a while and this week provided the perfect inspiration to finish it!! All the support, comments, and kudos helped a lot too!! I love writing and sharing it with people who enjoy it too makes it that much more fun!!
> 
> HotLock Week isn't over yet though!! Stay tuned for a Bonus Day DriftRod entry in this series tomorrow!!
> 
> Sneak Peak Summary:  
> Years have passed since Hot Rod and Deadlock last saw each other. After acquiring a new frame and a different name in the Crystal City, Drift wanders through the Autobot’s base searching for an old friend.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading!
> 
> I appreciate your kudos and love reading your comments!!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at: [lush-specimen.tumblr.com](lush-specimen.tumblr.com)


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